Death Personified
I sit in my cell, worrying about the events to come, truly afraid of my own demise.
The elderly man in the cell across from me seems like a ghost, that a slight breeze will snuff out his life.
Suddenly the air grows cold, and a stench of decay wafts in through the windows.
Out of nowhere, a figure appears, cloaked in utter blackness, two skeletal hands clutching a scythe of pure necromantic energy.
I recognize the being right away: it is death, and he has come for the elderly man.
The room grows colder still, I can see my breath.
Death turns to me, and I can see his face, utterly gaunt and pale, his eyes glowing a sickly green, and he smiles, as if he know I'm next.
I shut my eyes as he prepares to strike, sheer terror coursing down my spine.
When I open my eyes, the figure is gone, and the old man across from me lies dead.
